Whisper Beach (5 page)

“No significant other?”

“Not at the moment.”
Hardly ever. For significant reasons.

Van saw Suze hovering in the doorway, plates clutched to her middle like some kind of armor.

“Hurry up,” Van said with forced enthusiasm. “I'm starving.”

Suze passed the plates over.

While Suze opened containers, Dorie slid a slice of pizza onto a plate and handed it to Van.

But when Van reached for it, Dorie held on, studying her face.

“What?”

“Nothing. But someday I hope you'll tell me the whole story.”

D
ORIE STOOD
at the sink letting the water run. She'd insisted on doing the dishes, not that there were too many, and leaving the girls alone. Seems like she had a bunch of broken people on her hands. At least Harold was out of the way, and with any luck he'd be gone long enough for her to see things through.

Suze had called her months ago. She wanted to rent a room for a few months. She said she needed a quiet place to work for the winter. She had a year off to write some paper on some poet Dorie had never heard of. Of course, Dorie's knowledge of poetry consisted of Rod McKuen and limericks she heard down at the pub.

Dorie would be glad to have her, and there was no way she would charge her rent. But what the hell was Suze doing, staying in a stuffy room in an old beat-up house, when she could live in a mansion with a whole suite of rooms two miles away? It didn't make sense.

Then there was Van. Van worried her. She might be successful. Hell, Dorie knew she was successful, but she didn't seem happy. Not by a long shot. And that just wasn't right.

Gigi's life was in tatters way before Clay fell to his death. She hadn't been right since Van left twelve years before. It's like she just gave up. She'd always talked about being a nurse, but suddenly she was marrying Clay Daly instead and working at the furniture store. Now she was alone and back home with Amelia taking care of the children. Nate and Amelia didn't have a clue as
to what to do. Dorie thought the girl needed a big dose of therapy, though she wouldn't dare suggest it.

And then there was Joe. Dorie had never believed in broken hearts until Van left town and she'd watch that boy pine away. Everybody commiserated for a while. Then made fun of him and he laughed, too, like it was a good joke that he'd get over. But it seemed to Dorie he just never got over it. Her. Never got over Van.

Sometimes you saw two people together and you thought,
Wrong, wrong, wrong
. But sometimes, you knew that two people were right for each other, righter than they could be with anyone else.

And if ever two people were meant to be together, it was Joe and Van. After Van left, Dorie had watched Joe go out with one girl after another, never sticking with any of them for very long. Then she'd worry about him when he'd go weeks, months, without even showing up at the pub or the Crab; he was living and working on the farm. He told the boys he didn't have time for fun.

That was no way for a man to live. He was thirty-three now. That summer he'd been twenty-one and home from college helping out at the dairy and driving the dairy's delivery truck. He saw Van, and his eyes popped right out of his head like one of those cartoon characters. Love at first sight.

Hell, watching the two of them together was better than going to the movies. And then one little fight and she disappeared. It had never made sense. After all she'd endured, to run off over something like that.

Now Dorie knew the real reason. Or part of the real reason. She hadn't dealt with kids for years without being able to tell when one of them wasn't telling her the whole truth. Van was holding something back, and maybe it wasn't Dorie's business. Maybe it just wasn't her damn business. Still . . .

She'd thought Clay's funeral would be the perfect time to see
what might happen. But for some reason Joe hadn't even come to the funeral. Couldn't be because he wanted to avoid Van. Nobody knew she was coming, including Dorie. And Van didn't even ask about him.

Maybe she'd been wrong. Maybe it was too late for them, too much heartache, too much time, too much water under the bridge. And she was a fool for stirring up things better left alone.

I
T WAS LATE
when Joe walked through the door of Mike's Pub. He hadn't meant to come back, the same way he hadn't meant to stop by this morning. But here he was, standing just inside looking around the room before making his way to the bar. Mike had good enough food, but Joe had really come to hear about the funeral.

There was an empty stool between Jerry Corso and Hal Daniels. They motioned him over.

“Why the empty seat?” Joe asked as he sat down. “You guys fighting or something?”

“Nah,” Jerry said. “Vinnie was here, but he had to get over to Pep Boys before it closed.”

Mike pulled a beer for Joe and slid it toward him. “You eating?”

“Burger and fries.”

“Medium, got it.” Mike snagged a waitress and sent her back to the kitchen.

“You at the funeral today?” Hal asked.

Joe shook his head and took a deep drink of the beer. It was cold, and after sweating all day at the marina, he felt like he was being frozen from the inside out.

“Didn't think I saw you.” Hal went back to peeling the label off his beer bottle.

“Damn,” Jerry said. “Thirty-seven years old and phhhht. Gone. Just doesn't seem right.”

“No, it don't,” Hal agreed. “But he'd been having a hard time of it for the last few years. Still, it was stupid to try to fix a roof by himself. Anybody taking up a collection for Gigi and the kids?”

“Down at the station,” Jerry said. “Clay's brother, Jack, organized it. He made sergeant just this spring, and I think he's feeling bad that he didn't help Clay out more when he was still alive. All of us are pitching in what we can, but nobody's got much extra cash these days.”

“True.” Hal lifted his beer. “How come you didn't go to the funeral, Joe?”

Hal's question caught Joe off guard. He shrugged. “Had a hire. Can't afford to turn down work, even for the dead.”
Especially for the dead,
he thought.

Hal swiveled his seat around, started to stand, changed his mind, and swung back around. “Hell, Dana's heading this way.”

“Hey, boys.” Dana Mulvanney squeezed in the opening between Hal and Joe. “Started without me? Or you been drinking since the funeral let out?”

On Joe's far side, Jerry contemplated his beer.

“Pretty much,” Hal said, and he called out to Mike for another round. “Whatcha drinking, Dana?”

“Dirty martini.”

“Didn't see you at the funeral, or the get-together afterward, Joe.” Dana leaned against him, a routine she went through nearly every night that she came to the bar. Mike's was a local hangout. Everyone showed up at least a couple of times a week, and some dropped in just about every night. Joe came in at least twice, mainly for dinner when he didn't feel like cooking.

Dana came in sporadically. And it spelled trouble when she did.

“I couldn't make it,” Joe said and turned to face her. “You want to sit down?” He started to get off the stool, but she put up a hand and stopped him. Then she let her fingers splay across his chest and linger there. Slowly she walked her fingers lower—and would have kept going if Joe hadn't caught her wrist.

She laughed and dropped her hand. “You're no fun.”

“Afraid not.” Joe glanced up and wished he hadn't. He was close enough to see the bruise that she'd attempted to cover with makeup. She'd pulled her spiky dark hair over her cheeks, but it only called attention to what she wanted to hide. “Dana—”

She turned away. “How about you, Hal? Has Mary Kate let you out for some fun?”

“Mary Kate would have my fun and serve it to me on a platter,” Hal said. “Go on home, before Bud finds you in here.”

“Oh, Bud's over there flirting with a table of tourists.” Mike put three beers and a martini on the bar. Dana plucked the glass up and began fishing the olive out of it. “I really just came over to talk to Joe here. 'Cause I know he's dying to know who I saw at the funeral today.”

“I'm sure a lot of people were there today. Clay was a popular guy.”

Dana smiled slyly. And Joe knew what she was going to say. He'd been waiting for it, expecting it. He'd prepared for it—maybe even hoped for it, but he couldn't stop the shot of emotion that went straight to his gut.

“Well, don't you want to know?” The coy expression she'd perfected in high school looked a little tired on her thirty-year-old face—her thirty-year-old bruised face, he added. They should be doing something for Dana; it was too late for Clay Daly.

“This better be good.”

“Oh, it is, sweetie. It really is.”

D
ANA PLACED HER MARTINI GLASS ON THE BAR, SLOSHING
some of the liquid over the rim. Obviously not her first drink of the evening. When she let go of the glass, her hand drifted down to Joe's knee.

Joe turned his head to give her a friendly reminder of her boyfriend who was probably watching the whole scene. And met her face inches from his. He managed to pull back just as she pursed her lips in an exaggerated pucker.

“Dana, cut it out. You're just asking for trouble.”

“Trouble's my middle name.”

“No,” Hal said. “Trouble's your boyfriend over there. He's looking this way and he ain't happy.”

Dana turned away from Joe long enough to take Hal's chin between two fingers and plant a kiss on his lips.

“That's it.” Hal slid backward off his stool, grabbed his beer, and went to stand on the other side of Jerry.

Dana pouted as she watched him walk away.

Joe shook his head. “Dammit, don't you have any sense of self-preservation?”

“Aw, c'mon, Joe. Can't a girl have a little fun?”

“Not when it leads to a shiner like the one you're trying to cover with makeup.”

Dana's fingers went reflexively toward her cheek, before she realized what she was doing and snatched her hand down. “We just had a little tiff. That's all.”

Dana had stopped pretending that her bruises had come from accidents a long time ago. Now she didn't even bother to deny it.

The fire had just gone out of her. It started after Van left, but she really spiraled down when she hooked up with Bud.

Bud Albright was a cop with anger management problems. He'd been censured a couple of times for rough handling of a detainee, but somehow he managed to stay on the force. Probably by taking his anger out on Dana instead of his collars.

“All right, you were going to tell me who all was at the funeral.”

“Not all, babycakes . . . But one particular person.”

“Fine, but you'd better get it out, because Bud is headed this way.”

“I'm not afraid of him.”

“You should be.”

Dana smiled. “Your girlfriend, that's who.”

“Dana, I don't currently have a girlfriend. Can we just cut to the chase? My dinner's here.”

Mike put his burger in front of him and reached below the bar for ketchup and mustard. “Let the man eat in peace, Dana.”

Dana made a face at him. Mike began scrubbing the counter, ignoring her.

Joe reached for his napkin.

“Van's back.”

Joe flinched even though he'd steeled himself not to react. But Dana had waited for his one moment of distraction before going in for the kill. The girl had black widow instincts.

“Thought you might be interested.”

“Well, Gigi
is
her cousin. Stands to reason she might come to the funeral.”

“After twelve years? Are you serious?” The seductress and the syrupy singsong voice were gone; the old Dana stood before him, angry, belligerent, and spoiling for a fight.

Joe would have welcomed the change if it hadn't come in tandem with Van Moran's reappearance.

He didn't know why Dana was still so angry after all these years. Nothing had happened to her. She'd managed to break him and Van up with her stupid flirtations.

Van should have known he'd never take Dana seriously. He was a guy. A young guy and he enjoyed the attention, but he loved Van. He'd been pissed at her, but he'd always meant to make up with her. Then Van just up and left without a word, and he'd never heard from her again.

And life went on.

He'd gotten over it. He couldn't figure out why Dana hadn't. She still had her life, her friends; it was Van's life that had changed. Van was the one who left, the one no one heard from again. Dana just went back to what she did best, flirting. And then Bud came along; but it still hadn't stopped her—she reveled in causing trouble.

She couldn't seem to help herself.

Joe had once asked why she kept at it. She'd just looked at him and said, “Guess God just made me cute, sexy, and mean as a snake.”

She'd missed on all counts.

At least in Joe's mind. She was too hard-edged to be pretty, and her in-your-face come-on was anything but sexy—at least to him. And it didn't get any prettier with age. And though she might not be hiding a heart of gold beneath her bitchy exterior, she wasn't nearly as badass as she wanted people to believe. And that's what kept getting her in trouble. She was like a bad kid, acting out for attention.

He reached for the ketchup and shook some out on his fries. Screwed the cap back on, put it on the counter. Picked up his burger . . .

Dana's fingers walked up his thigh. “You'd have hardly recognized her.”

He put the burger down.

“Listen, Dana, I know you enjoy drawing this all out. But I'm hungry and tired; can you just please say what you're going to say and be done?”

Dana's dark eyes flashed with interest or anger, he couldn't tell. Nor did he care.

“Well, if you really want to know. She's totally sophisticated. Sle-e-e-ek.” She drew the word out. “And totally full of herself. Probably wouldn't give any of us, including you, the time of day. In fact, she just came to the funeral, made a scene afterwards and left without even acknowledging anybody. Still the stuck-up bitch she always was.”

“You know better.” Joe reached for his burger; this time it made it to his mouth.

“Well, she was and still is,” Dana said, knowing his mouth was full and he couldn't defend Van.

“That's so much horseshit and you know it.” Hal leaned over
the bar so he could see Dana past Joe. “She was always nice. And if she didn't have much time to party and get in trouble, it's because she was working all the time to support her dad.”

“Oh, and an angel, too. I forgot that part. All you boys thought so, didn't you? Just because she wouldn't put out for any of you. Except maybe for Joe.”

Joe swallowed. “Okay, that's enough. You've had your moment. Now it's over. Van was here and I assume she left again after the funeral.” As a hint it wasn't very subtle, but his patience was hanging by a thread.

“Wouldn't you like to know?”

Joe dropped his head in exasperation. Did Dana have any idea how silly she sounded? Like she was still in high school instead of a grown woman.

Calloused fingers wrapped around Dana's arm. She twisted in reaction.

“She wasn't doing anything, Bud,” Joe said.

Bud scowled at him; his eyes had the glazed-over look of too many beers with a bit of bully thrown in.

Joe turned back to his burger.

Bud pulled Dana toward him, practically lifting her off her feet. Jerry started to stand. Joe put out a warning hand. Mike would kill them if they started a brawl. He'd just finished refurbishing the place after the last one.

Bud pushed Dana behind him.

She just laughed and peered around his side. “Maybe she'll decide to stay for a few days. Maybe you should go ask her to.”

“Shut up, Dana. Get in the truck,” Bud said.

Dana reached out and snagged her drink. Gave Joe an air kiss and sashayed across the room.

Bud didn't follow.

“Give it a rest, Bud. You know she's just being Dana.”

“Yeah, but I got something else to say to you.”

Joe glanced at his rapidly cooling burger. “Mind if I eat while you talk?”

“It won't take long. You're letting those poachers use your mudflats to catch crabs and clams. It's a restricted area. If you don't stop them—”

“Look, Bud, I told you. I don't own that property. I'm just working there for the season. They're not my mudflats. And it's not my responsibility to stop them.”

“But it is your responsibility to call the police when they trespass.”

“I don't ever see them trespassing.” Joe picked up his burger and took a bite.

Bud stared at him for a couple of extra seconds then finally walked away.

Hal slid back onto his stool. “Arrested development, the two of them.”

“Yeah,” Joe said. “Kind of like being back on the playground.”

“Or wandering into a bad western.”

“He was always a bully, long as I can remember,” Jerry added. “Just never grew out of it. At least you guys don't have to work with him.”

“Heard he got censured or whatever the cops do for rough-handling people he picked up.”

“Yeah. We all figure it's just a matter of time till he goes bonkers. You feel like you're always walking on eggshells around him. He's supposed to be going to these anger management sessions.”

Hal snorted. “Well, if they're using my hard-earned tax dollars, tell 'em to quit. It's not doing any good, far as I can see.”

“Doesn't look like it.” Jerry agreed. “Sure hate to see what's
happening to Dana, though. If she had any sense, she'd dump his ass and find a decent guy.”

“When pigs fly.” Hal slid off the stool. “Well, I gotta get going. Promised Mary Kate I'd take the kids to Six Flags tomorrow. Hello crowds and junk food, good-bye paycheck.” He plunked some bills down on the bar and looked at Joe. “So are you going to see Van while she's here?”

Joe shrugged. “Don't know that she's still here.”

“Oh yeah, she is. Mary Kate was at the funeral. Van and that other girl, remember the rich sorority one who hung out with them?”

“Suze?”

“Yeah, her. Well, Mary Kate says they came to the funeral and then to the pub afterward. And that someone heard they were gonna stay with Dorie for a few days while they try to shore up Gigi.”

“Good luck with that,” said Jerry. “Gigi would do better just to cut bait and start over.”

Hal nodded and headed for the door.

Jerry leaned on the bar. “Not for nothin' but you oughta watch it with those diggers. I know they aren't doing any harm. Water's fine . . . at least enough for eating shellfish, just not for selling shellfish.”

“Like I told Bud—”

“Yeah, I know. Not your responsibility. And it's not like the Shellfish Commission is policing the waters. But if you see them, you might want to warn them that Bud's out to get them. He's been on his good behavior, but it won't last. It's just a matter of time until he takes it out on somebody besides Dana. I wouldn't want it to be any of those poor suckers. And I wouldn't want it to be you.”

He stood. “I gotta get going. I have the early shift tomorrow. Then three night shifts in a row. I need my rest.”

After Jerry left, Joe finished his dinner, paid, and went out to his truck. Maybe he could catch up on some
z
's himself.

And he almost made it home. He was approaching the bridge that would take him to the marina when the light turned red. As he sat there waiting for the light to turn again, something just shifted inside him. When the light changed to green, he made a sharp turn toward the shore, leaving the bridge behind.

He drove a block, two blocks, telling himself he was a fool. Three blocks. A real fool. And an idiot. Four blocks. But what harm would it do? It wasn't like anyone would ever know.

He'd just cruise past, see if there was a light on. Dorie would have closed the restaurant by now. She'd be at home, but it was late; she'd probably be in bed. He wouldn't stop. Just drive by.

Luckily for his self-esteem, he would never be able to get a parking place on the street, especially on a Saturday night.

A car pulled out of a space just ahead of him. He slowed even further. A parking place. No yellow paint that he could tell. No fire hydrant. There was nothing stopping him from parking and getting out.

He drove past. Saw headlights in his rearview mirror. He slammed on the brakes; backed up and into the space. He only made it halfway. But he waited until the car passed by before he pulled out again, aligned the truck properly, and parked.

And sat. Ten hours ago he'd been doing the same thing. Sitting in the bar. Waiting. And for what? Why was he even doing this? It's not like they would have anything in common now. But hell, after all these years, he just wanted to know.

Dorie's house was dark. The Caddy was gone, but there was a car he didn't recognize parked on the grass. Van's? Suze's?
Someone else who'd come from out of town to the funeral and needed a place to stay?

He drummed a tattoo on the steering wheel, watched the door. But for what? Who did he expect to walk out in the middle of the night?

A thousand times he'd wondered why she had left town. It wasn't because he'd been flirting with Dana. Van wasn't that volatile. She couldn't afford to be.

He'd seen her come into Mike's and saw her expression before she let him have it. And before Mike escorted her to the door with the warning to stay out. She was only eighteen.

Joe should have gone after her. But the guys were all ribbing him and he was embarrassed. But even as Van's features dimmed in his memory, her expression remained. He'd thought she was pissed, but he knew now that it was hurt.

He'd hurt his best friend. The girl he loved.

After a few days he gave in. Tried calling her, but the phone had been turned off. He asked people about her. She was around, but steering clear of him. He'd planned to be patient, wait for her to come around. Explain to her that it didn't mean anything.

Several weeks passed, but she stayed away. No one knew where she was, or at least they weren't telling him. Desperate, he even went to her house. But her father just yelled at him and said she was gone and good riddance. Joe could have killed him right there. Van had spent every day after school and summer vacation working to make money to keep a roof over their heads. And her father was glad she was gone.

Joe never saw her again. No one had. She left town without telling anyone. And never came back. He remembered it like it was yesterday.